


turned towards the sun

by spideywhiteys



Series: sidewalk dandelions [1]
Category: Dr. STONE (Anime), Dr. STONE (Manga)
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Brief homophobia, Demisexuality, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, and also terribly in love with senkuu, attempt at sciencey shit, cute nicknames, i am looking up how to make so many things because i am NOT senkuu big brain, intimacy and trust is pretty big here, listen all the characters are here, oc is a bit of a tsundere, oc is a loyal bitch, senkuu is bad at feelings and hates drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26694751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideywhiteys/pseuds/spideywhiteys
Summary: Kazehaya Kazuhiko isn't great with numbers, but he can draw. Chemical compounds don't make much sense to him, but he can craft universes with words. He doesn't know how to build computers from scratch, but he's got a decent green thumb and a passion for flowers. Everything about him is completely and utterly different from Ishigami Senkuu.( “Billions of people in the world and limitless combinations of DNA. Being different—it’s kind of exhilarating.”Kazuhiko had hiccuped, sniffed, then stared with wobbly, wet eyes. “You really think so?”“Obviously. I don’t say things I don’t mean.” )
Relationships: Ishigami Senkuu/Original Character(s), Ishigami Senkuu/Original Male Character(s)
Series: sidewalk dandelions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018938
Comments: 50
Kudos: 219
Collections: stuff i really really like





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my new hyper-fixation

**_2012._ **

**_(7 YEARS PRE-STONE ERA.)_ **

He doesn’t like the city. Concrete and car horns, the scent of smog and a cramped apartment—everything is different from the wide-open countryside. They moved in the summer of his third year of elementary. He doesn’t have friends, and starting at such an awkward time of the school year only reinforces the distance between him and his new classmates. 

“My name is Kazehaya Kazuhiko,” he’d said, standing in front of twenty-odd kids with his fingers wrapped around the straps of his NASA-themed backpack. “I like gardening. When I grow up, I want to be an artist.”

Introductions were easy enough. Kids could befriend anyone these days—but they were also prone to cruelty in the face of difference. 

Kazuhiko likes gardening. He likes standing out in the sun, feeling the warmth of the rays hit the back of his neck; he likes the feel of fragile flower petals under his fingertips, the tickle of long grass against his shins. When it rains he loves to dance in it, head tilted to the sky so he can stare wide-eyed into the barrage of water falling like a million stars. 

He likes the way stars look. Likes the way pictures reveal swirls of bright color and dust existing millions and trillions of light-years away. 

He’s scared of the dark. He doesn’t like the way cream cheese feels in his mouth and he absolutely can’t stand peas. There are things he loves and things he hates. Kazuhiko is a normal child, the kind of kid who should fit in among others and have no trouble making friends.

“That’s so freaky!”

But children speak their minds. They don’t think about cruelty the way adults do, but that doesn’t stop them from being mean. 

“Why do your eyes look like that?”

“Wah~ They’re so creepy!”

Kazuhiko wishes he was small enough to fit in his backpack. He thinks it might be nice to be able to disappear, to just zip himself in and ignore the world. No one stares too long at a backpack in a school. They’d leave him alone for sure if he hid there. Too bad it’s certainly too small for his body. 

“It’s called heterochromia.” A voice cuts in, high pitched and haughty. In the back of the class, a child with hair that tapers from white to green rocks back in his chair. His little arms are crossed across his chest, and his red eyes are round and boundless—devouring. A little scary. “It’s a rare genetic mutation in humans. It’s not creepy at all.”

Kazuhiko inhales sharply under his breath.

The boy tips forward, the front legs of his chair slamming into the ground. A sharp grin crawls across his face, those red, red eyes pinning Kazuhiko in place like a bug. “Mutations are how natural change occurs, after all.”

* * *

**_2019._ **

**_(THE START OF THE STONE ERA.)_ **

For the past few years, Kazehaya Kazuhiko has harbored a small, itty bitty,  _ downright miniscule _ crush on Ishigami Senkuu.

It started innocently enough as a passing interest in one of the few children who didn’t flinch away from Kazuhiko’s stare. Then it seemed to...blossom. His palms grew sweaty whenever Senkuu passed by. His heart kicked up two notches when their gaze met. And when Senkuu smiled? The heat from Kazuhiko’s face could rival the sun.

It wasn’t love. No, nothing like that. That would be ridiculous! For one, they barely spoke. They had a few classes together over the years and worked on a project together once—though it wasn’t much of a  _ together _ kind of deal, since Senkuu easily did all the work within a half hour—so they aren’t close. 

Senkuu is president of the science club. Kazuhiko is a member of the gardening club. He spends his afternoons with his hands in the dirt, removing weeds or trimming flower stalks that get a bit too unruly. Occasionally, he’ll peek up and see a flash of Senkuu wandering by the second floor window. It never ceases to make his heart thud loud and obnoxious against his rib cage. The days he lived for were the ones when their eyes would meet, and Senkuu would lean out the open window, all wild hair and snarling grin and say—

“Kazekazu!” A nickname formed by combining the phonetically similar sounds of Kazuhiko’s name; it started back in elementary and Senkuu never stopped using it, even now, when everyone else had long since moved on from the childish combo. The call would shortly be followed by some random fact, or a suggestion about the cross breeding of certain plants or even just a request for his artistic skills—but only for moment,  _ just a quick sketch— _

But really, Kazuhiko isn’t in love. It’s just a little crush, and he’ll get over it soon enough. He’s sure Senkuu would think it weird, anyway. The other boy is in love with one thing and one thing only, and that’s science. (Not that Kazuhiko is talking about being in love. Remember? Obviously.) Nevermind the fact that they’re both boys. It’s not entirely uncommon, nor is it something that’s...hated. But it’s not talked about publicly and there’s still stigma hanging around.

Even if Senkuu isn’t straight, there’s no way he’d be interested in  _ Kazuhiko. _

Absolutely not.

(Obviously.)

That day, he’d run out of the house with barely a goodbye to his parents. His younger siblings—twins, a boy and a girl—had their preschool smocks on, waiting by the door for their mother to drive them. He’d tugged the little bucket hats they’d both been wearing over their eyes and laughed at their high-pitched complaints. 

He hadn’t said goodbye.

(He’ll think about that a lot, later.)

The day proceeds in much the same manner as usual; droning voices and boring lessons, stolen glances at Senkuu and graphite stains on his fingertips. He’s almost caught doodling in his sketchbook during math—his interest in Senkuu does not, unfortunately, extend to Senkuu’s  _ interests _ . Subjects like Math and the Sciences have always been a bit tricky for Kazuhiko, who’d much rather work with his hands. 

He throws his backpack over his shoulder when the final bell rings. It’s much simpler than the NASA-themed one he’d toted around as a child. Standard navy, with a few cute keychains. He fiddles with one—a robot head, the paint chipped and faded with age. It’s not really his style, as the other two are a flower and moon. But he’d received it from Senkuu a few years ago. A passing gift, one the other boy probably doesn’t even remember giving. It’d been scraps. An extra that Senkuu acquired accidentally. 

(  _ “Kazekazu, catch.”  _ )

Kazuhiko stops fiddling with the keychain and clears his throat. There’s no one left in the classroom to see him, but he still feels oddly embarrassed. Always clouded by sentiment…

_ Yeah, _ he thinks to himself,  _ There’s no way Senkuu would ever look twice at me. _

* * *

Gardening is familiar work. Hat pulled low over his eyes to block the sun, Kazuhiko kneels in the dirt, dark hair tickling the back of his neck. The school doesn’t have a greenhouse, but it has a nice set up near the back of the school. Various planters ranging from 2x2 to 2x8 are arranged in uniform rows. They’re currently focused on the section containing flowers that bloom in the summer season, so Kazuhiko is pulling a tenacious weed from the sunflower plot. They tower over his kneeling form, an odd amalgamation of pretty and ugly. Grotesque, in a way. He’s quite fond of their meaning—loyalty, longevity...adoration.

“YUZURIHA!”

He starts, a weed slipping from his fingers. Raising his head, he squints in the direction of the shout. The voice he recognizes even before seeing the person—it’s Oki Taiju. Senkuu’s best friend, right alongside the girl. Ogawa Yuzuriha. The three of them call each other by their first names so easily, it makes Kazuhiko a little jealous. He can only bring himself to say Senkuu’s first name in his head, tucking it into his thoughts like a secret. One day, he wants to be able to open his mouth and say  _ Senkuu-kun  _ instead of  _ Ishigami-kun. _

Clearing his throat, he shakes his head to rid himself of such ideas. Crimson blossoms across his cheeks, the same shade as the red tulips in the pot to his right.  _ It’s just a crush, snap out of it! _

At that moment, he glances up to see the object of his thoughts ( _ affections _ ) peering out the second story window, clad in a lab coat and not even looking in Kazuhiko’s direction. Something squeezes his heart, forcing his eyes to turn away. Maybe tomorrow he’ll dredge up the courage to say hello in the hall. To ask if they can walk home together. To see if he can join Senkuu in an experiment. 

_ Courage.  _ Kazuhiko swallows his nerves.  _ Courage. _

* * *

And it only takes an instant. A mere second. The world is green. He can’t move.

* * *

When Kazuhiko was twelve, he found himself bullied quite often. He had a girly face, two different colored eyes, and always preferred to spend his time with his nose in a sketchbook—or even just a normal book. Other boys thought it was weird that he liked flowers, they’d throw dirt at him during lunch break or fill his shoes with pebbles. Middle school meant new kids, though there were quite a few from his elementary, and new kids meant having to deal with the initial scorn all over again. 

_ Your eyes are scary. Your eyes are weird. You look like my dog! Haha! Dog-boy, dog-boy, dog-boy! _

He remembers breaking down into tears behind the school, the word  _ mutt _ ringing in his ears like a curse word. That’s where Ishigami Senkuu found him. 

“They’re just jealous because their pigmentation isn’t nearly as unique as yours. Possessing rare genetic quirks is _ ten billion percent  _ an envious thing.”

“Well they can take it!” He’d cried, rubbing his eyes raw in an attempt to stem the flow of tears. “I don’t want it!”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s yours.” Senkuu then placed his hands in his pockets, backlit by the evening sun. It’s weird to think Kazuhiko had ever thought those red eyes were scary. “Billions of people in the world and limitless combinations of DNA. Being different—it’s kind of exhilarating.”

Kazuhiko had hiccuped, sniffed, then stared with wobbly, wet eyes. “You really think so?”

“Obviously. I don’t say things I don’t mean.” 

* * *

( “You’re a really ugly crier, Kazekazu. You should stop doing it.” )

* * *

The average human mind can’t possibly comprehend massive lengths of time. Memory storage is limited, after all. Sometimes it feels like he’s floating. He can’t feel his body, so his mind dangles in a black abyss. Occasionally, he sees the world...or at least he thinks he does. It’s snow and heat, howling winds and sprawling greenery. A deluge, a flood of impossible proportions. A forest fire, bright lights and heat he can’t feel. The world shifts under his body, quakes and rises. 

He has lucid days where he stares up at the stars. 

Up at the treetops.

Up at rocks and dirt.

He can’t tell if he’s in different places, or if the world is just changing around him. The passage of time is unstoppable, unfathomable. There’s a crawling, pulling feeling in the background. Hungry and creeping whenever he lowers his guard. Whenever he slips a little too much, he starts feeling numb. He starts feeling more like the void he hangs in and less like  _ Kazuhiko. _

To keep himself awake, he spins stories in his head. Books he wants to write, narratives he wants to tell; imagines the art he wants to create in painstaking detail. Every brushstroke. Every sweep of charcoal. Every movement of his pencil. Countless mediums. When he gets bored he starts listing flowers and plants, including their meanings and descriptions if he can. Over and over. 

He’s never been good with numbers, but he can create universes in his head. There are still things he wants to do in the world—however that world may look once he gets out of this prison. 

Prison. Body? Whatever he has become. He can’t die yet. There’s books to write. Art to be made. A boy to talk to.

* * *

With a crack, his body trembles. He comes back to himself, shucked from the void of his mind. Flesh is felt once more, dust and rock crumbling around him.

Kazuhiko gasps and breathes air, tastes dust on his tongue. The sunlight is glaring, the temperature moderate—spring weather, just on the edge of lukewarm. His nakedness becomes more apparent as goosebumps bloom across his pale skin, and he rubs at his arms as he stumbles to his feet like a newborn foal. He can’t help but look down at himself, taking stock of all his limbs. There’s no tingling, no missing toes or fingers, he feels completely and utterly fine. Which is odd, considering he’s just broken free from a stone casing after the world’s longest nap. There are odd swirling cracks on his thighs, like fissures in stone. His hair hasn’t grown at all, still falling short and straight, brushing the back of his neck. Even his bangs are completely in place, uneven so that some strands hang low over his green eye, partially concealing it.

Despite Senkuu’s words all those years ago, he’s never quite stomped out the anxiety his dual-colored eyes bring him. After seeing the odd cracks though, he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see his face—just to check and see if anything has changed. Maybe his face is a patchwork of lines now. Maybe his eyes have...well, who knows. Maybe the stone slumber fixed him, and he has two blue eyes, or two green ones. 

Brushing a chuck of rock from his hair, Kazuhiko finally pulls his gaze from his body and looks around. He’s at the edge of a cave, the overwhelming scent of feces and  _ animals  _ making his nose burn. At his feet are shards of broken stone, crumbled and dusty under his toes. 

“What the hell.” He says out loud; the very first words his throat has uttered in millennia. The world before his eyes is overgrown, a veritable jungle of wilderness. It’s green, almost disturbingly so. He’s never seen anything like this before—large and powerful and beautiful, a world of nature untouched by humanity. 

He hears the buzz of insects, the call of an animal, the wind rustling leaves—Kazuhiko takes a few wobbly steps away from the cave and the stench of animal poop. The grass under his feet is soft, tickling his ankles and growing in uneven patches across the ground. Stone figures dot the terrain, some in one piece, others half buried or broken. There’s a stray stone hand wrapped in vines, a single leg sticking up from the dirt. He is completely and utterly alone, the only human heartbeat in a garden of statues that once drew breath. 


	2. Chapter 2

If there’s one thing that Kazuhiko and Senkuu have in common, it’s the ability to quell panic before it sets in. Kazuhiko is a realist. The facts are before him: He has no idea where he is, he’s presumably far in the future, and he came out of a stone shell. _What_ he can do with that information, he doesn’t know. He’s not Senkuu, or even a science-oriented person. 

_What do I need to do to survive?_

The sun is still high in the sky, so he has time before nightfall—which is his biggest issue right now. Night means lowered temperatures and low visibility, which makes him an easier target for predatory animals. Assuming he’s still in Japan, there’s likely to be snakes, bears and wild boars. Assuming he gets attacked and survives, wounds in this kind of environment are a death sentence. He has no bandages, no medicine, no clean water or material to use for stitches. 

Okay, so many a little bit of panic is starting to set in. 

He swallows and keeps his eyes peeled as he walks a little further from the cave. He knows that for the most part, snakes are pretty chill—a friend of his once had a pet snake—but they were still dangerous creatures in the wild, and Kazuhiko was probably the one creature in the world right now _least suited_ for survival. Humans had essentially bred out their instincts in favor of...well, _science._

If he sees a snake in the grass anytime soon, he might actually pass out in sheer fear. There’s only so much panic he can swallow down at the moment. He makes it to the treeline, and that only serves to make him even more nervous. He can’t help but feel like it would be far less scary if he had another person with him. That, of course, ends up being a pretty shitty line of thought. 

“I’m alone,” he says aloud, tasting the syllables on his tongue. It’s odd—his throat doesn’t feel sore at all, even though he hasn’t spoken in about...who knows how long. “Just me. Me and myself.”

Then his toes slam directly into something hard.

He falls, arms flailing and foot radiating pain. His hands and knees hit the dirt, curses falling from his mouth to be heard by no one but himself. Hadn’t he just been talking about how getting injured was the worst possible thing? Look at him now. Downed by stubbing his toe.

“Ow, ow, ow.” He hisses under his breath, scrambling to push himself up and look back. He feels distinctly vulnerable scrambling on the ground in the nude, with not a thing to protect him. Then he sees exactly what he tripped over—a statue. 

Senkuu.

There’s no way to mistake that hair, though the wide-eyed expression carved into the stone isn’t one he recognizes. The features are all there: the sharp tilt to his jaw, the slope of his nose and even the curve of his ears. But the shock—well, it’s a _shock_ to see. Kazuhiko gasps sharply, kneeling beside Senkuu and waving his hands over the statue frantically. For a terrible, terrible moment, he thinks he’s broken Senkuu. But no, Senkuu is whole, if a little cracked—completely and utterly in one piece.

And also completely and utterly naked. 

Immediately, Kazuhiko looks away, clumsily covering his eyes and falling back on his butt. His cheeks explode with heat and color, painting his cheeks carmine red. There’s a long moment of silence before he realizes that he’s being stupid. He drops his hands and keeps his eyes averted. 

“What am I doing…” He mutters. “Wait, can you understand me? I had some level of consciousness...which means you probably do too. I mean, if anyone else does, it’d have to be you—so you can probably...hear me rambling about absolutely nothing and making a fool out of myself. As usual.” His voice gets progressively quieter until the last part is barely a whisper.

“I know you’re awake.” Kazuhiko leans slightly over Senkuu’s form, so his face is in the other teen’s view. “I know you’re awake...so please wake up.”

* * *

Senkuu doesn’t wake.

Not that first night. Kazuhiko can’t spend forever hovering nude over a statue. He smacks his cheeks in embarrassment just thinking about it. There are three very important things he needs to even attempt survival: water, shelter, and food. A human being can go around three or four days before dehydration proves fatal, so he ranks water higher than food. It might be painful, but he’ll be able to last quite a bit longer without food than without water. Shelter....well, safety is a priority in this environment. 

The cave he woke up in would be great, if it wasn’t for all the bat poop. Then there’s the dampness, which might lead to sickness. He needs somewhere dry...somewhere warm, or—fire. He needs fire! To purify water, cook food and keep himself warm during the night. Then he needs clothes? Maybe? Definitely. But how would he even begin to make them? There’s no fabric. There’s only plant life around, and he can’t wear vines comfortably for the rest of his life. 

Fabric is...cotton, right? Or at least most of it is. Some of it? God, he’s an art kid, but not _that_ kind of art kid! He’d need a loom, thread—or maybe animal skins? But he doesn’t have the slightest clue as to how to preserve an animal skin so it didn’t rot, let alone skin an animal to begin with! He really took simple things like _clothes_ for granted.

(How do you even begin to make a loom?)

He pulls a rock from the ground and has to triple check to make sure it isn’t part of some poor unsuspecting person. As it is, he still isn’t sure it’s _not._ Not a great thought. Losing track of Senkuu would be a bad idea, so he marks trees with the rock as he goes. He can’t stick around here. He needs to find a water source and some potential materials. 

Who _knows_ how much the landscape has changed over the years—or how many plants and animals have evolved, even if only a little. What if some plants that were once edible no longer are? How useful was his knowledge in this kind of world?

_Ok, Kazu, you’re freaking out a little._

He exhales heavily. It’s no use panicking. He’ll drive himself to an early grave that way, especially in a situation like this.

Kazuhiko moves steadily onwards, scraping marks into tree trunks and glancing around in every direction like he’s waiting for someone to leap out at him. He almost thinks he’d like that, if only to show that he isn’t alone. What terrifies him more than anything is the idea of some wild, mutated animal crawling out of the woodwork to attack him. All he has is his trusty rock.

Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to walk as far as he expected. There’s a small river just ahead, maybe less than an hour’s walk from Senkuu’s body. The sun is still high in the sky and hot on his neck, sweat dusting his skin. He’s thirsty and his feet hurt, and within a few hours he knows he’ll be hungry too. It would be easy enough to just drink straight from the river, but that’s a last ditch kind of deal. It could be safe...or there could be foreign bacteria or parasites in it. He’s not sure he wants to take the chance until there’s no other option. 

That means he needs a fire.

“Okay, Kazu! You got this!” 

A fire. Simple.

* * *

It’s not simple. He has no idea what he’s doing. He’s never made a fire before in his life. There’s a vague recollection of the basics tucked away in his memory, but that’s not much to go on. He has a pile of dry leaves, grass and small twigs prepared, and he’s been twirling a stick against a rough piece of bark for the better part of an hour just _trying_ to get a single spark. Friction creates heat, creates embers, creates fire—he knows that much. Science might not be his forte, but he didn’t fail the class entirely. 

“Urhg,” he groans, hands raw and aching. Blisters are beginning to form on his palms and the sight makes him nervous. He’s always nervous about his hands, he needs them to draw, paint, create—

Sweat slides down his bare back. Had it been summer, he surely would have passed out already. He’s no Taiju, after all. 

God, he wants to throw the stupid stick down and give up. He wants to take a drink from the damn river. He wants clothes. He wants his family.

Kazuhiko pauses. 

He never got to say goodbye, did he? It’d been a normal day, a normal morning. His mother in the kitchen washing dishes, his father already at work. The twins. So young and small still, small enough for him to carry them both at the same time, one on each hip. Had he ever been that small? It doesn’t feel like it.

And now they’re gone. Stone, probably. Somewhere in the vastness. He doesn’t know where time has taken him, he could be miles and miles away from the place he was initially petrified. They could be miles and miles away from where _they_ were petrified. Buried under an ocean. Under rock. Under layers of magma, if Fuji erupted. (It probably did.) Shattered into pieces maybe, obliterated under the force of nuclear reactors failing or machines exploding or planes plummeting from the sky. 

It’s not a nice thought, but Kazuhiko isn’t very good at anything else. Always putting himself down, always the pessimistic one. Lost in his thoughts because it was better in his head when he was a kid, better than the outside world with its bullies and pointed fingers and childish laughter meant to hurt. Now his head is a den of negativity, and he gets lost wandering the halls of his mind until he can’t find his way out. 

He’s going to die out here, isn’t he? Alone. He’s never going to see his family again and he’s never going to make it on his own when he can’t even start a damn fire. He’s too much of a coward to drink the water, too much of an idiot to find a solution like Senkuu can. What’s he good for? Why’s he even awake? What kind of divine punishment was this?

* * *

_The glare of crimson eyes, parted lips, hair that defies gravity; “I can call you Kazekazu, right? I like the way it sounds._ Wind _and_ Knowledge. _”_

_“Eh? I thought the kanji was for harmony! ‘Cause Kazehaya-kun is suuuuper chill!”_

_“No, you big oaf_ — _it has a completely different starting stroke!”_

_“HAHA!” Kind eyes, brown eyes, the kind like chocolate. “You’re TOTALLY right, Senkuu!”_

_Kazuhiko thought it was funny, because the kanji_ were _quite alike._ 和 _being peace, harmony and_ 知 _being knowledge. No one else really cared. No one looked close enough_ to _care. It could be read as Kazuhiko whether it be_ 和彦 _or_ 知彦. _But Senkuu…_

 _“Look closely, big oaf, the kanji clearly read_ knowledge _and_ boy— _”_

_Soft eyes, a softer face. Her hair brushed across her shoulders. “But Senkuu, doesn’t that say Tomohiko? Kazuhiko is usually spelled the other way!”_

_“It’s a frankenstein name.” Kazuhiko remembers himself saying, finally participating in the conversation circulating around him; the conversation_ centering _on him. “My dad has dreams of me being a doctor, so he wanted_ Kazu _to be read as_ knowledge.” _A sigh. “I get called Tomohiko all the time.”_

_A snort, a familiar smirk pulling at thin lips. Senkuu’s amusement always feels a little too dark, like he’s eons ahead of the joke while you struggle to catch up. Kazuhiko’s cheeks flush crimson under that stare, until he’s fit to match the shade of the other boy’s eyes. He has to bite his tongue before he spits out something stupid or starts rambling._

_“A doctor?” Senkuu repeats, “Doesn’t suit you at all.”_

* * *

Kazuhiko picks the stick back up. 

So maybe he’s not as smart as Senkuu, but he’s pretty sure no one is. He’s fine with that. But he’s not an idiot, not entirely, and he definitely can’t afford to be one right now. He has _knowledge_ in his name and that needs to count for something, even if he’ll never be the doctor his dad wants him to be. 

He twirls that damn stick, brute forcing his way to victory. He’s absolutely no Taiju, but he’s more familiar with outdoor work than Senkuu, who sometimes looks like a stiff breeze could spell his downfall. All Kazuhiko has is determination and the need to survive. He needs to create some kind of life here, some kind of safety and shelter—because Senkuu is going to wake up, Kazuhiko knows it. 

* * *

A spark.

* * *

It’s probably sheer luck, but he manages to get a fire going. It starts small, so small he worries the slightest hint of wind will extinguish it, but with slow additions he finally gets it to a nice size. There’s quite a bit of smoke, but it’s a wood fire so he has to make do. At least all the fumes keep away insects! It isn’t exactly mosquito season, but it’s better safe than sorry. 

He lines his little fire pit with rocks and feeds it a steady supply of wood. When it looks like it’ll burn for a bit without his interference, he goes _hunting._

Well, foraging.

He doesn’t think he could kill anything right now. Definitely not with his bare hands at that. He uses the same method to mark the trees as he wanders, careful not to go _too_ far. It’s spring, so the ground is heavy with fallen nuts. There’s mushrooms in the damp, shady parts of the earth and dandelions bursting in huge clusters from the grass. They taste bitter, especially without anything to help soothe the taste, but food is food and he can’t really complain.

He gathers up what he can using wide, fat leaves from bushy plants, rolling them up like scrolls. Evening will be upon him shortly, and he doesn’t want to be out here without any light. He begins his journey back, plucking reeds and long stems along the way so he can weave something resembling clothing. When he gets back to the fire, he puts down his spoils.

The dandelions taste as expected. The nuts taste more like wood. 

He feeds the fire once more and starts weaving and weaving and weaving until the day sinks into the night. 

* * *

He barely sleeps that first night, terrified of every sound. Every snapping twig, every animal call, every hum from an insect that’s just a little too loud—or a splash from the nearby river, the sound drawing nightmares to the front of his mind, his wild imagination spinning horror scenarios of some mutated man-fish dragging its body on shore to eat him. He almost wants to cover his ears, but the paranoia is too great. Better to hear something coming than be snuck up on.

The light from the fire both helps and doesn’t, making him feel safe and warm but also casting deep, flickering shadows and not illuminating enough of the terrain. It’s not good to work in low light, but he passes time waving his pile of vines and reeds and long grass, trying to make some kind of covering for himself. 

At some point he falls asleep, over and over, never staying under for long. He’s too tense. Too scared. Too worried that the fire will go out for good while he slumbers away and he’ll never be able to start it up again. 

When he dreams, he dreams of wolves tearing his flesh from his bones.

* * *

A week passes. 

He’s crafted a hut made of fallen branches and mud, layered to keep out chill and animals. With hours and hours to do nothing but survive, he’s made quite a bit of headway. Being on the ground means there’s a risk of animals—snakes, boars, bears, wolves—so the hut offers some measure of protection, even if it’s not the sturdiest or prettiest to look at. Wild grapevines weaved through sticks create lopsided baskets that he uses to hold food that he forages. (The grapes themselves are extremely bitter, sour in his mouth to the point where he can barely stand it.) He even sharpened a long stick for a spear, but there’s no telling if he’ll ever use it. 

There’s no one else around just yet, so clothing isn’t really needed. Still, for his own comfort, he weaved a skirt-thing from bushy vines to cover his lower half. Being naked is weird. He’s not a fan of the exposure—the wild is dangerous. There’s so much dirt, so many bugs, so much sunlight—he’s not a happy camper. Pun not intended. 

Day two, he’d given up trying to figure out how to make a bowl to boil water from the river. He’d just dunked his whole head into the river and drank, so thirsty at that point he wouldn’t have cared if he accidentally swallowed a fish. It’s now day seven and he hasn’t died yet, so the water’s probably not poisonous. _Probably._

He drinks and bathes in it, glad that it’s a _moving_ river and he’s not just drinking his own wet dirt. Fishing is still out of the question, but it’s on the list. He needs to eat meat eventually, or at least find something else to provide him with protein. Surely there’s some plants around here…

Dirt tracks so easily. 

He sleeps on a pile of leaves and moss, screams when he finds a bug on him—he’s never missed bug spray more. Every day his feet end up coated in dirt, he has to scrub plaque from his teeth with his fingernails and chew mint leaves to stop his own breath from killing him, and he washes in the river each night because there’s _no deodorant_ and everything _sucks._

But he’s alive. 

He has food (that tastes nasty, but it’s food) and water and warmth. And yeah, he’s a little lonely, and when he’s bored he hangs around Senkuu’s statue and talks into the open air. Nothing too crazy, because he doesn’t want to distract Senkuu from whatever big brain thinking the other teen is probably doing. 

And he doesn’t want to seem...desperate. He’s not! It’s just that Senkuu is the only one around that he knows, _obviously._

Kazuhiko grunts as he places a shoddy basket full of walnuts inside his hut. Down the river is an overgrowth of japanese butterbur, the invasive plant edible but not as good uncooked. Tomorrow he’ll probably stock up on it. He wipes sweat from his brow and pushes his hair away from his eyes. The work is boring and his hands feel almost desperate for movement, for the ability to _draw._ He wants to sketch. He wants to paint. But there’s no paper and no pencils, no paint or charcoals. Just him and the wild.

Alone.

He exits his hut and drops a few more logs on the fire. Maybe he should make another fire pit? Just in case? It’ll be easy enough to create multiple fires with this massive flame here. Torches? Nah, he’ll need to find some kind of fuel...candles! No. Yes? No...he doesn’t know how to make wax. And he still has no cotton for a wick. If he _did_ have cotton, he’d be making clothes, not candles.

Kazuhiko stretches his arms above his head, spine cracking in relief. Sleeping on the ground isn’t the slightest bit comfortable, and his back is paying for it. The sun hangs directly over his head, a few clouds dotting the wide expanse of blue. He can see swaths of it in the spaces between the tree branches. He’s lucky it hasn’t rained yet. It’s unlikely his hut would last through a storm. He’s proud, though. Proud of how far he’s come in a week. Things are actually looking up—

“Wow, you did better than I thought.”

He smiles reflexively. “Oh, thanks.”

_Huh._

At the treeline, Senkuu surveys the little camp Kazuhiko has made for himself, hands on his hips. Almost everything about him is the same; his hair sticks straight up, not a strand out of place, his eyes are startlingly crimson and lined with dark, thick lashes. Two cracks slice down his face in an almost artful manner, from high on his forehead to just below the inner corners of his eyes. It doesn’t distract from his attractiveness. 

Or the fact that Senkuu is entirely naked aside from a short covering of ivy vines. Being a naked statue is one thing, but now—it’s. It’s...a lot of skin. _A lot. Of. Skin._

“Huh?” Kazuhiko gasps out, the shock still circulating through his brain. Steadily, red begins to rise to his cheeks and spread—down his neck and up to his ears. “You—You! I-I-Ishigami-kun! When did you get here—”

“A fire going and everything…” The teen wanders around, hand on his chin as he observes what meager materials Kazuhiko has been working with. “You were right, by the way. I was ten billion percent aware of what was happening.”

“Gah—You heard me! Don’t get the wrong idea, I only visited because I recognized you! W-When did you even wake up!?” Kazuhiko slaps his hands over his blushing cheeks, stuttering helplessly and leaning away when Senkuu leans in, naked and grinning, mania in his scarlet eyes. _How did you find me?_ Kazuhiko wants to say, even though the answer is obvious and for once he’s so glad his tongue ties itself in knots.

“A few hours ago.” The other teen says, finally pulling away a little. “I needed to examine the stone I broke out of. I marked it off. You woke up a week ago, right? Any side effects you’ve noticed? Anything different about your body? Where exactly did you break out by the way?”

Senkuu goes right into big brain mode, not a care in the world for propriety or nakedness. His first love is and always will be _science._ Kazuhiko holds his arms awkwardly against his body, trying in vain to cover himself a little more. They’re both boys, but there’s something embarrassing about this—even if Senkuu doesn’t seem to care at all.

(It’s probably just that very minor, microscopic crush he has on Senkuu.)

“Uhm, by a cave...and nothing that I noticed, aside from the cracks.” He rests a hand against his steaming cheek. “Even my eyes…”

“Eh? You’re still going on about that?” Senkuu scratches his nose, a droll expression on his face. “You can’t fix what doesn’t need to be fixed. Anyway, where are those cracks?”

Kazuhiko’s heart thumps heavily against his rib cage at the nonchalant words. _You can’t fix what doesn’t need to be fixed._ It makes his gut explode into a whirlwind of butterflies. “They’re—” He halts. There’s no way. No. Not happening.

Senkuu blinks, brow drawing low. “Well?”

“Nevermind. It’s nothing. They’re nowhere.”

Thin lips pull into a haughty smirk, an all-knowing glint in those wild eyes. “Oho? What? Embarrassed? Don’t be a prude. Where are they, Kazekazu—this is for science.”

Kazuhiko backs up a little at Senkuu’s sudden approach, hands sliding down towards his thighs instinctively. “Nowhere! Back off! P-Pervert, pervert, pervert!”

But his mistake is in his movement. Senkuu’s eyes slide down Kazuhiko’s body, directly to where Kazuhiko is attempting to cover up. “Bingo! Spread your legs.”

And Kazuhiko—

Kazuhiko passes out from the sudden rush of blood to his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SENKUU YOU FOOL


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been a hot minute huh

It’s only for a moment. The dizziness recedes almost as fast as it came. His cheeks still feel hot and flushed, his heartbeat thrums in his chest like a caged bird.  _ Beat, beat, beat. _

“Oi, Kazekazu!”

He opens his eyes. Senkuu hovers over him, far too much pale flesh on display. He smells like earth, like gravel and sun-warmed skin. His eyes are rubies, framed with lashes too plentiful and dark to be real — he is, perhaps, the closest he’s ever been before.

Kazehiko can barely move from his half-collapsed position. Senkuu crouches in the dirt between his legs like it’s something casual, as if he’s done it before or feels no shame in the intimacy of the position. 

“Oh, you’re fine.” Senkuu says brightly, his grin sharp, always too sharp when he’s itching to get his way. His hands are soft, not like Kazehiko’s. Kazuhiko’s hands are rough from gardening and crafting. They’re his greatest treasures.

Soft palms and fingers — it takes Kazuhiko a moment to realize that Senkuu’s hands are sliding up his legs, parting them, the vines and leaves around his waist slipping up.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” He shrieks, hands clapping low over his private parts.

“Relax, I’m just looking at the cracks!” Senkuu replies, forked tongue at the corner of his lips. “We’re both guys, anyway.”

Kazuhiko’s shoulders tense. He presses his lips together until they’re bloodless and blinks up at the sky. He watches the clouds through the treetops as Senkuu’s hands trace the lines in his inner thighs with a clinical sort of care. He’s really being ridiculous, isn’t he? They  _ are _ just guys. Two guys. It’s Kazuhiko who’s the weird one, isn’t it? 

It makes his chest feel tight. It makes his face feel hot, but this time it’s kind of painful and he wants to hide. He feels like the time his parents asked about him getting a girlfriend and he could only choke and choke and choke — and lie.  _ I’m focused on my grades, _ he’d say.  _ I don’t like anyone, _ he’d say.

When the truth is that he just likes boys, not girls. But he can’t breathe the words into existence because his father is a good father, and maybe a good man, but he’s a traditional man with values that include the coupling of a man and a woman. Strictly. He remembers the way his father had frowned at two girls kissing as they parted at a bus stop. He remembers the way his mother had hummed and told him she felt sorry for people like that, because  _ oh, how confused they must be. It’s just a phase. They’ll regret this later in life. _

Kazuhiko loves his parents because they’ve never raised a hand to him. They love him and his siblings, they’ve taught him things he’ll never forget, they support him and laugh with him and dance in the kitchen while baking cookies — but he knows, he knows it in his heart, they’ll have to learn to love him all over again if he tells them  _ this. _

“Sorry.”

Kazuhiko blinks and reality returns.

Senkuu rests his hands on Kazuhiko’s knees, the slightest furrow to his brow. His eyes pick apart every facet of Kazehiko like he’s a frog about to be dissected. It’s oddly...not terrifying.

“That was a stupid thing to say.” The boy frowns, “I misspoke.”

Kazuhiko holds his arms to his chest. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

“Factually.” Senkuu acquiesces. “Can you just accept the apology already?”

The taller boy gets up, and Kazuhiko takes the hand that’s offered, cheeks flushing red once more at the contact. Senkuu rubs the back of his head, ruffling wild, gravity-defying hair.

“Yeah.” Kazuhiko murmurs after a moment, because Senkuu has never let anything go in his life, and he’s never been  _ wrong _ for more than a minute because he always self-corrects and acknowledges his mistakes. And maybe that is another reason that Kazuhiko’s chest always feels too tight around the other boy; his heart too big, his head too light, his palms too sweaty. “Apology accepted.”

And it’s like nothing happened at all. Senkuu flutters away, inspecting every inch of the camp with a hawk-like gaze. He picks at the little hut, messes with the spear, squints at the poorly made baskets. Kazuhiko hovers behind him awkwardly, wringing his hands like he’s waiting to hear the results of a test. 

“You did pretty well, for someone with little to no survival knowledge.” Senkuu comments, prodding the gathered pile of nuts. “The fact that you know so much about plants really came in handy, huh? Your gardening skills are sure to be useful.”

Kazuhiko feels like he’s been set on fire. As usual, his tongue trips up over itself and he doesn’t spit out any flower, poetic words of thanks. No. Not even close. “That’s—That’s just basic stuff. I don’t need your compliments!”

“Yeah, I know.” Senkuu says, only half paying attention. “Hey, the first thing we’re going to need is tools. Proper tools. And traps. Having a fire already greatly increases our survival rate, but we can’t survive without a way to obtain meat and furs.” He digs a finger into his ear nonchalantly, a mean sort of laugh on his lips, “I’m sure you don’t wanna spend the rest of our days naked, do you? Unless you’re into that sort of thing….”

“D-Don’t be ridiculous!” Kazuhiko yelps, “Who’d wanna be naked with you, Ishigami-kun!?”

_ Ah, this is it. _ He thinks to himself.  _ Let me just evaporate on the spot. Me and my big mouth. _

Senkuu grins like Kazuhiko’s said something particularly funny. “Anyway. First order of business. We have to collect rocks. Back in the Stone Age, they made tools out of cryptocrystalline materials — sedimentary rocks that could be shaped into tools and sharpened with ease. Our issue is that we don’t know what kind of place the world has become, and our resources might be limited or hard to find….though I imagine Japan’s basic geological composition is probably the same.”

Kazuhiko purses his lips to stop himself from saying something stupid. He doesn’t know much about rocks, beyond the fact that he used to have a rock collection as a kid. Never really knew what kind, he mostly collected them based on how shiny they were. Like a magpie, attracted to anything that glittered.

And Senkuu shines like a sun-class star.

“Kazuhiko.” 

He glances up to meet burning red eyes.

Senkuu grins, exhilaration in the too-sharp curve of his lips and the flash of white teeth. “We’re going to take back humanity, starting here and now. No matter how long it takes. It’s just the two of us right now, and we’re going to be sprinting through millennia of scientific discoveries. We’re going to do it together. Are you ready for that?”

_ Will you be at my back? _ Is what Kazuhiko hears.

Because right now, Kazuhiko’s messy feelings aside, it’s just them two against a world that will try its best to kill them if they don’t  _ work for it. _ They have each other and nothing else.

“Yeah.” He replies, thinking of his parents, who he still loves despite the hurt, and the twins, “I want to save them. I want to save them all.”

Senkuu nods, smugly approving. “Then you should really call me Senkuu already. No more of that  _ Ishigami-kun _ crap.”

Kazuhiko stiffens like he’s been jabbed with a cattle prod.  _ No way! My heart isn’t ready! _

His wail of despair echoes in his mind.

* * *

It’s a lot of trial and error, but that is how science progresses. Shattered rocks lay at their feet; rocks that don’t chip, rocks that chip too much. For hours and hours they collect different stones, wandering the dangerous forest with nothing but sticks for weapons and barely any fighting skill between them.

For Kazuhiko, who’s been alone for a week now, it’s a relief. Having another person beside him makes him feel less like he’ll go insane — less like he’ll die out here. With Senkuu, he feels like they can do anything.

Even if it takes a long, long time, years and decades even, they will accomplish their goals. Kazuhiko hopes he’ll be there to see it. 

Hopes, because there’s no telling what will happen to them out here. Sickness, natural disasters, animals — it really is them against nature, with no safety net to catch them if they stumble and fall.

They eat Kazuhiko’s collected food with only a few grimaces, rock dust under their feet. Senkuu is a tenacious man, basically a force of nature in his own right, he’s sweaty and tired and barely able to stomach the handful of grass and nuts he’s stuffing in his mouth, but he’s  _ still going. _

“We’ll have to keep looking tomorrow.” He announces, sticking his tongue out after the last swallow. Night is falling and it’s not safe to keep going in the dark, with only the glare of a fire to light the way. 

Kazuhiko shifts on his knees, having become less conscious of their shared semi-nudity over the past few hours. It all comes back full force when he realizes that there’s only one small hut for them to share. “Y-Yeah.”

Senkuu shuffles his way in first, his body taking up a big portion of the space. Kazuhiko stalls outside, his stomach rolling with more than the dissatisfaction of their meal. 

_ Relax, relax, relax. Absolutely nothing is going to happen and you’re working yourself up like a loser.  _

“Hurry up and get in here. It’s starting to get cold.” Senkuu asserts, shifting his limbs to try and make more space. His expression is unflappable as always, mind probably a million miles away.

Kazuhiko tentatively pushes his way in.

The space is so, so small with two people. He feels every breath trembling the air between their bodies, feels their heat coalescing to warm the cool night. Every hair on his body stands on a razor sharp edge as every one of Senkuu’s exhales presses against the back of Kazuhiko’s neck like a kiss. 

He curls up as best he can, hummingbird heartbeat rattling his rib cage. Blood pools in his cheeks and down his throat, staining the obvious throb of his pulse. He’s on fire; a human inferno that refuses to turn to ash despite his deepest wishes. Kazuhiko presses his hands to his mouth when he hears his breaths pick up a notch — because it’s too loud, suddenly. Too obvious. Mismatched eyes squeeze shut, a curtain of darkness against the light of the moon and a blazing fire peeking through cracks in the hut. 

Senkuu shifts behind him, presumably unconcerned and definitely too smart not to catch on to Kazuhiko’s behavior — and that is perhaps the most humiliating fact of all. Senkuu looks at Kazuhiko but does not  _ look _ at him, and they are both aware of this fact and both in a silent agreement to not acknowledge it.

_ I don’t like you, I don’t like you, I don’t like you.  _

He thinks to himself, over and over, wishing for it to be true. 

_ I can’t like you. _

_ I shouldn’t like you. _

But Kazuhiko is a mess, and even if he wasn’t, Senkuu flays open every person with a glance; privy to secrets they barely remember carrying. Kazuhiko refuses to admit he has a crush even when he knows he does, because he wants to  _ stop liking Senkuu. _

He was content with their mild distance three thousand years ago, because it helped him in his attempts to swallow those feelings. 

There is no way to avoid them now. Nowhere to hide. Not with Senkuu’s breath rolling across his flesh and Senkuu’s eyes burning through his skull.

“Stop looking at me, stupid.” Falls from his lips before he can stop it.

Senkuu makes a noise that sounds like a laugh. He rolls over and their naked backs press together, heat pooling at their spines. 

Kazuhiko presses his hands further into his hands and thinks that  _ this _ is suddenly much worse than before.

* * *

The first month is hard. It’s a lot more work than either of them are familiar with, even if Kazuhiko spent a lot of time in the garden back before humanity turned to stone. His hands are still an artist’s hand, and there are no gardening gloves to protect them here. 

They make tools. Stone knives, spears and mallets. Traps — small ones for rabbits, large ones for deer.

The first animal they caught, a fat rabbit with a brown coat, had been a monumental success and a complete tragedy. They needed the meat and they needed the fur, clothes and blankets and  _ warmth _ severely important to their survival. But...killing a creature wasn’t something either were familiar with.

“I’ll do it.” Senkuu had said, easily as breathing. His face never gives anything away when he doesn’t want it to. There’s a stone knife in his hand, freshly sharpened and awkwardly held. 

Kazuhiko is a coward who runs to the trees to forage while Senkuu cleaves off skin and fur. 

He returns to meat bubbling over the fire and Senkuu standing nude in the river.

The usually gravity-defying white to green is heavy with water, slick against his neck and back, caught between slender shoulder blades. Even under heavy sun he remains pale, occasionally burning rather than tanning. Skin peels just slightly at his shoulders and across his nose. He doesn’t look real.

Senkuu is a figure made of stars and cosmic energy, the universe in a cage of flesh. Behind his eyes lies something incomprehensible, something meant for otherworldly beings and not earth-bound humans like Kazuhiko. There is blood on his hands and blood in his eyes, pooling in irises. It drips from his fingers and trails up his arms, and he is a victorious figure coated in gore.

Kazuhiko’s hands itch; they tremble with the magnitude of the vision spread before him. He wants to draw, wants to paint the scene and capture the kind of art that belongs in a museum.  _ If only I had my sketchbook, or my paints. _

He thinks Senkuu would be best captured in color. The gravity of his existence cannot be portrayed with simple grayscale. Kazuhiko can almost forget that the slick crimson is real, can almost forget that it’s the truth of a life taken for their gain. 

Senkuu smiles with pride as he dissects Kazuhiko’s emotional state with a mere glance. “Rabbit hide acquired!”

Kazuhiko whirls around when he realizes he’s been staring. “What’re you  _ doing  _ taking a bath in plain view!?”

“Eh? You would have freaked out even more if I wasn’t in view when you got back.”

“Shut up!”

The sound of water splashing carries easily across their small camp.

“Anyway,” Senkuu pushes on, “I can handle the traps. We can work together on tanning the hides and making clothes. I know the basics of sewing but I’ve never really done it before.”

“...me neither.” Kazuhiko admits. 

“Yuzuriha would be helpful right about now.”

He doesn’t know if Senkuu means to say it, but it hangs in the air for a long moment. Senkuu doesn’t talk about people. He remains very  _ one track mind _ when it comes to figuring out how to survive and how to turn the stone victims back to their human forms. Kazuhiko supposes that’s smart — and a way for Senkuu to stop himself from spiraling into a state of depression. 

To reiterate, Kazuhiko is not smart. Or at least, not as smart as Senkuu. He still feels the pull of terror and sadness lurking in the back of his mind. It comes alive at night, when his body aches from working to  _ live _ all day under an unforgiving sun. It fills his mind when he’s exhausted and unable to do anything but sleep and dream of nothing but nightmares.

“Yes, she would be.” He murmurs, brows pulling low over his eyes. Both Yuzuriha and Taiju would be better than him.  _ Easily. _ What can he really contribute? Senkuu already knows everything about plants, definitely even more than Kazuhiko does. There’s no need for art here, no time for leisure activities or the building of abilities not relevant to their survival.

Senkuu could survive without Kazuhiko.

“But I’m glad you’re here.”

He blinks, catching himself at the last second. Those words had almost made him turn around. “What?”

More splashing.

“It’s ten billion percent easier to survive with someone else, especially someone with useful knowledge. And you’re familiar. It would totally suck if I had to deal with some unreasonable knucklehead or a flat-earther.”

A laugh catches in Kazuhiko’s throat. He brushes a loose strand of night-black hair behind his ear, counting ashes in the firepit as a distraction.

“I —”

“You suck as a space heater, though.” Senkuu interrupts, water sloshing a little more violently. He must be exiting the river. “You’re so  _ tiny. _ Your body barely generates enough heat for  _ you, _ let alone for me to use you as a hot water bottle.”

“Then don’t use me at all!” Kazuhiko screeches reflexively, blushing again. Always blushing. He feels like a tomato. Constantly. The blood rushing to his head so often can’t be healthy for him. “And I’m not that small!”

Senkuu laughs, and his laugh always sounds mean but it rarely ever is. Kazuhiko doesn’t turn around yet, but he’s sure there won’t be malice in the other teen’s eyes. His face will be soft, his smile a blade, his features made of juxtapositions as he tries to play off one emotion while his eyes reveal another.

* * *

Crafting becomes easier.

They make bowls and utensils and better tools. Baskets are weaved with split reeds or molded with clay and baked. Better storage and better tools means they can work on a new shelter. One that will withstand the rain and wind, especially since shivering under their leaky hut had  _ sucked _ the first time a deluge dropped on their heads.

Senkuu continues to kill whatever animals they catch.

He never asks Kazuhiko to do it, and Kazuhiko can’t bring himself to mention it. It’s not fair. The taller boy will never reveal if it bothers him or not. It obviously isn’t weighing  _ too _ heavily on Senkuu’s mind, because that big brain of his moves too fast, a bullet train on a predestined track. 

But still.

Kazuhiko worries. He worries because he  _ likes _ Senkuu even when he doesn’t want to, and therefore cares about the other boy’s mental and emotional well-being. 

Because there’s no way  _ Senkuu _ is worrying about it.

Together, they cut down trees with stone axes. It takes hours and leaves them with aching arms and blisters. They chip away bark to create stripped logs, crack them open slowly with rock wedges to get evenly  _ split  _ logs — or as even as they can get. Kazuhiko’s hands hurt a lot, but there’s nothing he can do about it. 

_ They need this to live. _

Senkuu makes them clothes. They’re rough and feel odd against his skin, but Kazuhiko can’t complain. It’s nice to wear clothes after being bare for so long. In fact, it almost feels  _ weird _ to not be naked. Senkuu’s outfit is an off-white deer canvas tunic, with short sleeves and awkward stitching. He makes shoes of the same material, looking more like sacks on his feet than anything. For Kazuhiko, his tunic is in much the same shape, though instead a lovely amber-brown, and his sack-shoes are lined with fur because his toes and fingers get cold easily. His sleeves go down to his elbows, because it’s still summer and the heat is too much for anything more. 

It feels good, the progress they’ve made.

Kazuhiko smashes his axe into another tree, pushing himself further and further. His only use right now is to be whatever it is Senkuu needs. (Aside from an animal killer.) So he chops and chops until his hands ache so badly that he can barely hold the axe.

“Ow,” he hisses, the skin of his palms burned red. These precious hands of his are marred with growing calluses, blisters swelling at the base of his fingers. The discomfort is enough to make him bite his lip, more pained sounds trapped between his lungs and his tongue. Kazuhiko sighs instead, gripping the rough handle of the axe once more and wincing at the sharp flash of pain.

A pale hand curls around his own.

“Stop it!” Senkuu pries the axe from Kazuhiko’s hand. “What are you doing?”

Kazuhiko can’t even bring himself to flush, “S-Senkuu-kun? What do you mean?”

“Your hands!” The other boy exclaims, examining the wounded flesh closely. His fingers are warm, little scars on his flesh from science experiments gone awry. “We need to get them cleaned up. You shouldn’t push yourself this hard, Kazekazu.”

Helpless, he replies, “Wha— But what else am I supposed to do?”

“Slow down. Do another task. You don’t need to ruin yourself doing this over and over for hours. It’s not productive, especially in the long run. We don’t have proper medicine, if you tore up your hands and got an infection you’d be done for.” Senkuu flicks Kazuhiko’s forehead like he’s trying to jam his words into the shorter boy’s head. He sighs, thumb running over the curve of Kazuhiko’s knuckles. “Besides, your hands are precious to you. Aren’t they?”

Red blossoms across Kazuhiko’s tanned cheeks. He ducks his head, unable to meet the bloody, hawk-like gaze of Ishigami Senkuu. “...Yeah.”

“Then let’s take care of them.”

Kazuhiko feels heat pool in his gut, in his chest, in the spaces where their hands touch — he lets Senkuu drag him back to camp and can barely hear the other boy’s grumbling over the sound of his heart screaming at every point of contact. He watches the tunic-clad back, the shoulder blades shifting under rough fabric, the shorter strands of white-to-green hair curled against the back of a pale neck. The other boy meets his gaze once as they walk, vermillion stardust and the brightest point of a quasar. 

Senkuu makes it so hard to not be in love. 


End file.
